I credit Their Eyes Were Watching God
by Zora Neale Hurston for solidifying my love of literature. It
sits on my shelf, like a trophy, and is pulled down every few years for
another read. I remember reading it clearly for the first
time. My English professor at the time wanted to introduce us to
feminist literature. So, we spent the semester reading books
written by women, and about women.

This particular novel was odd because it was written in southern black
dialect. By the end of the book, I loved the way the words rolled
of my tongue, flowing from my mouth, making me feel as though I were
there. I immersed myself in a culture I knew nothing about. But by the end of the book, I felt I carried a piece
of that culture in my soul.

I also took away just a little piece of every women’s soul. I’m
sure that professor…whatever her name was…would be proud.

Tonight, I watched the movie version starring Halle Barre. I will
just say, the movie did the book justice…but read the book…it’s
more fun to read aloud the words.

I finished reading Volkwagen Blues.
I still haven’t figured out what I think of it. It’s what I call
an “Onion book.” Upon first read it’s just the sweet adventure of
a man and a women. They drive from Quebec City to San
Fransisco. But, I think I need to dive into the book a couple
more times at least. Peel of the surface layers, and discover
what’s underneath. I love “Onion Books.”

As for life, It’s been busy. Friday night, I went to R’s
house. He fed me Chinese food and tea. His hugs were like
therapy. I couldn’t sleep that night though (no..not for the
reason’s you’re thinking), so while he snored gently in the background,
I stayed up reading. I only got one hour of sleep, so I called in
sick.

We spent the day driving to Bragg creak and Cochrane…me in the passenger’s seat…half asleep and dreamy.

That night was ritual…short, sweet, powerful as always.

Today I worked at the psych unit. Nothing new to report…no
interesting stories to tell. All the weirdness is becoming “same
old…same old”